


Das Ende ist mein Anfang

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Ghost Ludwig, Historical References, M/M, Modern Era, Not Really Character Death, Past Character Death, Supernatural Elements, WWII mention, World War II, ghost au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-07 06:44:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3165191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Feliciano was an ordinary kid of twenty years of age when his grandfather dragged him along on a field trip to a war memorial. But due to Lovino's complaining and his grandfather's stories, Feliciano wanders off on his own adventure. Although, Feliciano didn't imagine that so many secrets and lies would be revealed just by having gotten distracted by a man in a funny uniform.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! This is the prologue of my story, and it will probably make more sense if you read this first, although it is not completely necessary. I've had this idea for a while now, and a couple of fabulous people thought it would be a good thing to write, so I've decided to pursue the idea.

There were times in life where Ludwig questioned his existence.

This, in fact, had been the last. He was sure he was dead.

Ludwig was hiding. He had been in the bushes, watching a bunch of American and British tanks roll by, his rifle in his hand as he watched. He wasn't going to fire, it was only himself. His unit had spilt up, everyone he had been with had died under his command. Just watching the heavy machinery roll by, Ludwig had to admit he was so tempted to stand in front of it and let it roll over him. This war. He wanted it to be over. He wanted to see his brother and his girlfriend who had fled to Scotland. It had been just him in Germany until he had to join the army.

Secretly, Ludwig preferred the _Luftwaffe_. Indeed, his former home with his _Opa_ had small little model airplanes hanging from the ceiling, in return they would gently move in the breeze from an open window. He had always wanted to be a pilot growing up, even a fighter pilot would have done.

Ludwig did not like war. He didn't enjoy the thought of killing someone, but he had to do it for his country, he became a mindless robot so he wouldn't have to endure the mental trauma of realizing what happened when he pulled the trigger at someone on the other side. With this mentality, Ludwig stayed in the bushes. He waited until the tanks passed and some soldiers before he made the run across the dirt road. Alas, he didn't make it far. Like a deer in headlights, Ludwig had frozen at the sound of the gunfire and before he had enough time to act, a bullet ripped through his dirty, dark green uniform and embedded itself into the flesh of his shoulder. His rifle dropped to the ground. And like any normal human being, he wanted to live. Immediately the pain took over and sent his legs running faster than before until another whizz through the air and a bullet pushed itself into Ludwig's leg.

His leg gave out, his body tumbled into the dirt, and he rolled off the side of the road and into a ditch. Pure agony. Sprawled out in an ugly shape and with the blood staining his already pitiful uniform, Ludwig couldn't help but cry. It wasn't manly, but it wasn't the time to care. He was so frustrated, he was so tired, and this war wasn't worth fighting anymore. It would have been the best to remain there in the ditch forever, but that wasn't Ludwig. He had to get home to tell Gilbert all his war stories. He had to tell Gilbert everything, how much he loved him and how much he missed him. His grandfather. He could see _Opa_ again. He could see the blue sky, not streaked with grey smoke or red flames. He could walk down the road without living in fear of being shot or captured and interrogated for some stupid information that would help no one win the war.

In the end, no one would win. How could they? People would be dead; some people would be saved. Loved ones would be lost. Ludwig was loosing his hope. His brain was in overdrive, trying to process all these emotions at one and trying to block out the immense, intolerable pain. So he focused on one thing, the sound of voices speaking English moving closer to where they saw him tumble into the side of the road. Now he could hear the scuffle of shoes and several hands grab onto his uniform and heave his body from out of the ditch. When they brought him above onto the grass, Ludwig was laid back on his back and stared at the crystal blue sky directly above him, dotted with the beauty of the melting clouds. The tears wouldn't stop falling, staining his cheeks and clearing small paths of his pale skin rather than it's old dirtied shade. Though he was wincing from the nonstop pain, he couldn't help but smile just a little bit. If he made it through this, he would see his family again.

"What are you smiling about, Kraut?" Snapped other of the soldiers.

" _Legen mich das aus von meinem Leid._ " Ludwig slurred, unable to reply in English. His German was bad enough right now; his English wouldn't even be English. Too much was happening, he couldn’t be possibly be capable of speaking another language.

"What the hell is he saying?"

"I don't care, someone just shoot him."

"Hold on, he's a goddamned first lieutenant. I bet we can get something from him."

"That's a—..."

Their words became slurred, or more like Ludwig didn't care to listen. He doubted they would help him; he would just be another one of those corpses rotting on the side of the road. There were three soldiers, standing off to the side (the ones who had pulled him out) and were now conversing. Ludwig could see them out of the corner of his eyes. Turning ever so slowly, he managed to turn himself over. Thankfully, two of them had engaged themselves in an argument.

He was on his feet, limping and hissing in pain with every step. He froze until he heard the lock of a gun behind him, and cocking to his head around, he met one of the men's pair of eyes. They were full of amusement, his lips curled into a laugh upon seeing the German trying to run away.

There was no echo. Gunshots don't echo. Yet another bullet struck into his opposite thigh, this time Ludwig couldn't help but cry out in pain as he fell forward and into the grass. From falling off the side of the road to this, Ludwig had gained a couple of scars besides the obvious bullet wounds, the bloodstains seeping deeper into the fabric. Everything was a blur now, his vision clouded and faded, everything hurt yet it was so much that there was almost nothing to feel.

That's when everything turned to black.

That's when Ludwig was sure he was dead.

What seemed years and possibly days of just dreams and memories, Ludwig regained consciousness. It had not been what he was expecting, though. Soft bedding surrounded him, a wool blanket draped over his body, and the smell of chemicals, indifference to the usual gunpowder and dust he had been inhaling over the period of the war.

The feeling was all-round comfortable. God, he hadn't slept on a cot, much less a bed, in years. It was miracle his back hadn't been permanently twisted into a different shape. Though, the sound of voices reached his ears. A language that sliced through the silence, one that Ludwig was familiar personally speaking it, but his mind slowly processed the words.

"There were two dog tags on him, sir. A German and a British one."  A soft-spoken voice.

"His initials are L.B, surname is Beilschmidt and no religion. That's it. Why would he have a British one?" Sounded French.

"Isn't that why you brought him here in the first place?" Yet another voice too, an American.

He was in trouble. Not to mention that he was a German, and god knows where he was on the damn planet, Ludwig wasn't good at speaking English. Gilbert had always told him that his accent overpowered the language too much; it was too obvious and he wouldn't be surprised that it would never go away no matter which language he spoke.

Slowly, his eyes fluttered open. The colors were all white first until everything flooded in. Three blonds stood nearby, one messy, one with golden locks, and one with short, and almost spiky hairstyle. However, there was a fourth who stood off to the side, medical tools in his hands but Ludwig's stomach churn. Jesus, it would be hell to pull the bullets out. They might have done that already.

He immediately looked away, spotting the one who had shot him all three times standing too close to him, and in his hands were Ludwig's dog tags. As fast as he could mange, Ludwig sat up and grabbed the three dog tags from the American's grasp and pulled them as close as possible. If he died here and now with these four Allied assholes, he definitely wanted his brother to have them. Overcome by sudden nausea and pain from the sudden movement, he collapsed back down on the cot and pushed his eyes closed.

"Looks like someone's awake." Mused the American.

"Jones, prop him up." The British one, Kirkland, said.

Together, with Ludwig fighting against them by not trying at all, and after some time they propped the German up against a small pole in the tent. They pulled up chairs and surrounded Ludwig as he watched them careful, occasionally glancing down at the dog tags. He was tired, he wanted to sleep, but all they wanted were answers. He was at their mercy. He had to get back to Gilbert.

"Okay, Kraut, do you speak English?" Jones, the America, inquired.

To this, Ludwig didn't answer, and simply just stared back emotionlessly.

"Uh, okay," Jones mumbled, obviously put off by the intense gaze before the Frenchman coughed and decided to speak up.

"Why do you have a British dog tag when you're a German? Did you steal it off a dead body?"

"No." Ludwig answered.

"What then?"

"I'm a double agent." The German answered.

"To who?" The Briton spoke up.

"The British."

Hours possibly they inquired. Ludwig couldn't tell anymore. He wasn't even sure if they understood what he was trying to say, his wounds were patched up but it felt like he was still bleeding. He felt so sluggish, worse than he had ever felt before in his whole life. Maybe death wasn't a bad option. HIs brother was bound to join him in the beyond after death someday.

A day later, Ludwig had thought he was getting better. Maybe it was because he had actually gotten sleep, more than he usually did. Albeit, they had been treating him much better when he had made sure that they knew he was a double agent. It wasn't very simple, sending a telegram to a disclosed British office that had had contact with Ludwig since the beginning of the war, and as he moved up rank, the more intelligence he could provide.

Three days later Ludwig couldn't get off from the cot anymore. The whole world was spotty with black dots that covered his surroundings. Jones and Kirkland even talked quieter around him. They all knew, the German knew too.

He was dying.

At first it had been blood loss that had almost killed him. Instead, three days later, it was an infection. Not to mention that the soft-spoken medic, Williams, had told him that the bullet to his leg been paralyzed. Williams had done everything he could to heal him. He was a kind Canadian, one of the nicest enemies that Ludwig had ever met in his life. He owed Williams a favor.

Oddly enough, Ludwig felt no qualms about Jones, the man who shot him three times. He was almost thankful in a sense. Though he was away from his comrades and generally the people he was so familiar with, the surreal state he was in was somewhat peace. They would ask him questions, he would give them answers. He could sleep soundly and not be plague by the nightmares of war, instead of dreamt about his past, Opa and Gilbert. His cousins whom he hadn't seen in years were probably wondering what ever happened to him. It was calming. Ludwig had no fears about dying. It was a pleasant idea, of just drifting off and not having to be burdened anymore. But the guilt of not giving Gilbert and his grandfather one last goodbye, it was that made his heart shrivel. Therefore, he would answer all the questions. This war would end quicker with them knowing. He could see Gilbert quicker...

The fifth day. The fifth day was the day that Ludwig wrote his final letter to Gilbert. Written in crisp, cursive German and neatly signed at the bottom with his full name: Ludwig F. Beilschmid. Kirkland said he wouldn't mind taking it since Gilbert was current living in Scotland, and that he had a distant relative in Scotland that could track down the German's brother. He would have to repay Kirkland. Gilbert would have to repay him for him.  
  


_Dear brother,_

_I do believe this will be my last letter. The Americans have captured me, and I am now residing in one of their tents to provide military intelligence. Although, a man by the name of Cenric Kirkland will have delivered this letter to you now, I have been dead for sometime._

_It's not that I will be dead because they're decided it’s a good idea to put a bullet through my head, that instead that my bullet wounds are infected. I can barely feel anything anymore; my left leg is paralyzed. So if I had made it home, you would have to wheeled me around in a wheel chair. I'm not sure how you would have carried me up the stairs. It would have been a good idea to just have me sleep on the sofa instead. That way I could make sure you didn't raid the icebox when I'm asleep._

_I'm not sure what else to write to not make this sad, Gil. All I have is my war stories and my memories, nothing that's uplifting to share besides that you should repay Kirkland for me. Though he can be an ass sometimes, and is grumpy as hell, he went all the way to Scotland to give this letter from me to you. Give him something that doesn't remind him of me. No one wants to remember the war once it's finished, or even close to ending._

_It's January 12th of 1945, and I feel the war is slowly coming to a close already. Get home to_ Opa _, bring the dogs with you, and make sure to dust my bedroom, too._

_I'm scared to die. I want to be home with you, even though you piss me off sometimes, it's been too long since I've seen you. It's been too long since I've seen any relative. I'm scared to let go because I'll never know what'll happen in your life, what I'd miss, that if you and Elizabeta get married that I'll never be your best man, and so many missed opportunities. I feel like a little child again. I want to go home. I hate being here, though they're nice to me, it's not the same. No one speaks German. It's nothing like where I would like to die, it's nothing that anyone would picture dying as. But, I shouldn't complain. They're people who are suffering worse than I am, Gilbert. Don't pity the dead._

_But just don't forget about me. Don't dwell on the fact that I'm dead. Don't think about all the things you could of done to save me, because this was always meant to happen. I had to die at some point. Don't beat yourself up, don't do anything extremely stupid and screw up your life because_ I _won't be there to yell at you. There's nothing you could of done to prevent this, it was me who choose to do this. I'll see you in a little bit, be safe in the meantime. Just remember to tell_ Opa _that I love him, and that I love you too._

_Sincerely, your brother,_  
 _Ludwig F. Beilschmidt_  
  


 On the seventh day, Ludwig had a dream. It was an odd dream, not even a memory that he recognized, but inside of it, it had been so real. He stood in a meadow, and besides him a short brunet, someone who he would soon come to know. The other's words were warped, coming out like they were being uttered under water. There was no water in this meadow. The dream felt endless, they sat there on the hill. Birds chirped in the distance, and a gentle breeze rustled through just to keep the temperature just perfect. The flowers swayed. Everything was so peaceful, being with this person radiating some warmth that Ludwig had never felt in his life. It was lovely. Soon, sadly, the dream began to fade into white. The emotions from the meadow, his dream, remained with him as the edges began to grow white. It continued to spread as he remembered about Gilbert and _Opa_ , and even the mystery person. Ludwig felt peace and everlasting warmth as it all faded to white. Lulled into a sweet peace, Ludwig let his mind drift deeper into the the pure white light.

Later on the seventh day, Bonnefoy, the Frenchman, had discovered that there was no longer a rise and a fall to the German's chest. On the ninth day, the blond German was buried near the trees of a battlefield they had been preciously been using only to be marked by three great stones and the name "Beilschmidt" carved into one. In 1946, Kirkland and Jones had brought Ludwig's old dog tags to Gilbert along with the letter. Though, a man by the name of Roma Vargas happened to visit a certain Second World War memorial in 2015 with his two grandsons.


	2. Battlefield

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small chapter due to that I originally had this joined with another one, but since there's a time change in between the two, I've decided just to make this a chapter on its own! Enjoy!

Large black shiny blocks of stone stood in the middle of the field, engraved with every soldier's name that died on his field. The idea of standing on someone's grave sent shivers up Feliciano's spine as he walked behind his grandfather, Roma Vargas.

Despite having Nonno constantly rambling about his old war stories and slightly freaking Feliciano out by how unbelievably graphic his grandfather could be, Lovino behind him was swearing up a storm distracted him now and then. Every time that Feliciano would abruptly stop to pay attention to where Nonno happened to be pointing, his brother would slam into him and call him some name in Italian (bastard, etc.), and if he happened to be carrying his phone it would fall to the ground.

Saying this, Feliciano was getting tired of bloody entrails and watching men's eyeballs roll back into their heads from his grandfather’s descriptions. And also practically nausea from the unwanted details to the point where even Lovino said something along the lines of: "Nonno, I'm going to seriously throw up." in hopes to get him to stop. 

Once they got to the stone memorial in the center, Nonno became quite, his eyes scanning over the names engraved onto the black slab. 

"What is it, Nonno?" Feliciano softly said.

Roma stepped forward to concentrate on some of the names. "Just a familiar name. An old face lost to a memory."

The younger brother frowned, pulling himself besides his grandfather and taking a hold of the larger hand. In this moment, Nonno looked so much older than usual. The lines in his face were more prominent, though his eyes still bright, they carried so much history in them even with such a small glance. It broke his heart that Roma only truly showed his age in sorrowful moments like these.

Lovino stood off to the side, awkwardly looking around and shuffled his feet in the sodden grass. 

Feliciano pushed up on his tippy toes and pressed a smile to his grandfather's cheek, looking up at him with wide eyes. "Nonno, can I go look around?" 

The older Italian gave a solid nod, taking a step closer to Lovino as Feliciano turned on his heel and begun walking away. 

The grass field was huge, dotted with stone slabs standing upright and sidewalks to take you in different directions to other memorials nearby. But the one thing that caught the auburn's honey colored eyes was the small hill in the distance— the only place where no one seemed to be going. Curious to why no one would explore that direction, Feliciano took it upon himself to check. 

About five minutes it took Feliciano to reach the top of the hill, the soft, lush green grass rolling downwards and the light breeze rippling through it like an ocean. Breathtaking. He dug through one of his pockets and pulled out the iPhone, recording a small video of just the sounds of nature and the breeze drifting through the locks of grass.

That's when all of the sudden, his phone slipped from his grasp. Although thanks to his durable phone case (thank you, Nonno), the phone started sliding down the hill in the lush, saturated grass. Due to the decline of the hill, Feliciano spotted as the phone sped quicker through the grass, flattening some of it while sometimes tumbling until it hit a rock that was set off to the side.

The Italian smiled when it had stopped, deciding to sprint across the decline of the hill to rush over to his phone. Not being careful of his steps and which parts of the steep hill were slippery, Feliciano lost his footing, falling down into the mud and running his warm jacket.

"You're going to get yourself killed if you don't pay attention," a voice grumbled. No one had been on the hill before, unless he hadn’t been paying attention earlier. That might have been the case.

Feliciano looked up towards the direction of the voice, surprised to see a blond man in an odd looking uniform perched up top the rock his phone had gotten stopped by. He had not been there before; Feliciano was positive. There was something off about the man. Maybe it was his appearance; an old, dirty looking uniform that had a rip and tear there, not to mention a deep dark color about his shoulder and thighs. It could have been though that every time Feliciano looked at him, he swore that the man was like Netflix loosing its internet connection— his figure going in and out of focus and appearing to be translucent in those moments or that he looked vaguely familiar, as if he had met him in a dream and swore that this had already happened once before. 

The man rolled his eyes after being stared at, reaching behind the rock and taking the phone into his hand. He rolled the object in his palm, staring over it like he had never seen such a thing. "What's this?"

Feliciano was a little bit surprised, sniffling up some tears caused by his fall before wearily treading over to the blond. "My phone? And wait, mister, who come you're all dressed up like that? I thought they didn't have war reenactments." 

The man seemed taken aback, glancing down at his own clothing then up again. "Why would anyone want to have a war reenactment..?"

Feliciano shrugged. He pulled himself up, taking a seat in the grass next to the boulder. "I don't like war, I especially don't like being here either, it gives me the chills. Oh! I forgot to introduce myself," he smiled widely, looking up at the man on the rock, "my name's Feliciano Vargas."

"I'm Ludwig Beilschmidt," the man—Ludwig— replied. 

Raising an eyebrow at the name, Feliciano's eyes went wide and stared up at the German. "Isn't your name on the memorial up there? I think I saw it when my grandfather was looking at the other names!" He asked, shooting upright and pointing at the distance stone slabs on the leveled field.

Ludwig's interest peeked and being taller, he simply sat up straighter and followed the finger to the memorial. "I suppose it would be."

Feliciano noticed that as he met the pair of blue eyes that Ludwig's form flickered before him in uncertainty. He couldn't help but frown at both his words and how he was seemingly disappearing and then becoming whole again. 

With no reply, Ludwig continued speaking. "What is today’s date?"

"January 16th, 2015," Feliciano answered quietly, chills crawling up his spine and pulling his scarf wrapped around his neck over his mouth.

"I'm ninety-four... My family has been dead for at least fifty years… Mein Gott." Ludwig brought a hand up to his face, inhaling deeply.

The surrounding area's grass begun to grow frost right before his eyes, surrounding the rock that he was sitting on. It was that type of ice when the morning dew starts to freeze.

"Y-You're a ghost?" Feliciano said hesitantly, taking steps back from avoid having his feet get covered in little ice particles. 

The ice suddenly grew quicker, the blond’s face contorted into a scowl, his hands balling up into fists. "Isn't it obvious?" He snapped.

"I-I'm sorry," the Italian whimpered, almost slipping on the cooler wet grass. It seemed that the angrier Ludwig got, the more transparent and flickering his form became. 

Feliciano was overcome with the urge to run, because ghosts weren't real, but the tone and the atmosphere around him were so apparent he had never felt it before. It was the most heartbreaking feeling on the planet, and it was overwhelming the brunet every single second he lingered even more. It was like a car crash— it was so horrid, but impossible to peel your eyes away from.

Ludwig frowned, inhaling again. "I didn't mean to snap at you." 

The ice receded a few inches, the horrible heartbreaking atmosphere gradually residing. "How long have you been sitting on this rock?" He asked, nearing the blond again curiously. 

Even though Ludwig was spirit, as a breeze pushed the grass back and forth, his green uniform billowed across his frame, exposing the outline of his large muscles. A couple of Feliciano’s own brown locks swished across his eyes.

It was peaceful now on the hillside, the ice had melted back into the earth. 

"Just yesterday. The day I died seventy years ago. I don't know why I'm here, but you're the only one who has seen me."

Noticing that Ludwig still had his phone in his hands when it begun vibrating and planning some song abut tomatoes in Italian, Feliciano tried to lunge to grab it, the ghost swiftly standing up and studying the object. 

"What is it?"

"It's a phone! Ludwig, you should see the technology. You've been uh...asleep.. for seventy years, a lot has changed!"

"Telephones don't look like this!" Ludwig insisted as Feliciano tried to grab it out of his hands. Reluctantly, the German eventually gave him his cell phone back. Feliciano quickly answered the call that on the other end happened to be an unfortunately angry Lovino. 

After having Lovino yell in his ear for a while about how Roma and him had been looking all over for his brother and had no where to be found, Feliciano hung up. He looked over at the ghostly figure who stared back at him. "Since I'm the only one who can see you... Does that mean you're my ghost? You look familiar, Luddy, and I don't know why."

Ludwig stood up and headed towards the path, Feliciano jumping from his spot and bouncy afterwards. 

"Is there some kind of deal to why you're my ghost? Do I need to help you? Do you need to help me?" Feliciano frowned, glancing up ahead at the other.

"I don't know," the German replied, slowing down to match paces, "but I want to visit my brother's and grandfather's graves. I couldn't move from that rock yesterday, you're the only living thing I've come in contact with, I'm stuck with you." 

Feliciano bit down on his lip, pulling at his sleeves. He didn't like how his new 'friend' did not like the idea of being with Feliciano for his ghostly life, while on the other hand Feliciano wanted to be friends already. Not only was that troubling him, but the fact that Ludwig wanted to go somewhere. Feliciano had to work, and for the government. Ludwig wanted to go to his family’s graves, although Feliciano had no idea where Ludwig was even from. He did sound German, so he assumed that.

Soon, Feliciano emerged into the clearing, spotting the two brunets besides each other. Roma was smiling in his direction at his arrival rejoining his family. Ludwig stood off to the side and instead of Lovino colliding with the German; he passed smoothly through the ghostly form, causing Ludwig to flicker violently like someone walking through a holographic projection to promptly give Feliciano a small punch in the arm and a scolding.

Roma announced that they would be leaving.

With that, the Italians and their secret newcomer departed for Venice, only a couple hours away from the battlefield littered with memories.


End file.
